


Mark of The Stranger

by AlisaRB



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25850431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlisaRB/pseuds/AlisaRB
Summary: Based on Kate Sherwood's "Mark of Cain".Sansa Stark died the same day his brother did. The day Sandor Clegane killed him.Now she's not a Stark, but a Silent Sister. Devoted and disciplined, with a quiet, simpler life.That is, of course, until she learns Clegane got out of prison early.
Relationships: Bronn/Margaery Tyrell, Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

There was something quite precious about routine. The familiarity of it all, the knowledge that nothing could deviate from the plan, not really. The small inconveniences of everyday life were minimal and safe, almost a sweet little distraction that could not disturb the order.  
That’s how Sansa felt, anyway. She hadhands tightly clasped together; her eyes closed as she prayed alone in the sept. Everything went according to plan. In a moment, she would hear the steps of her sisters as they walked to have dinner, the only sound coming from their grey habits brushing the floor as they did so.  
She stood up from where she was kneeling and looked up at the statues of the Seven. Even after four years of being a Silent Sister, she hadn’t got used to their faces yet. It still felt almost unnatural to step into a building to pray, and not a godswood. But that was what she did, before. When she was Sansa Stark.

It’s funny how we tend to dwell on the things that usually go over our heads, the details that we don’t notice until they’re missing. Perhaps that’s why Sansa was cherishing the beauty of routine and repetition today, when everything seemed to be upside down, and why she was questioning the unfamiliarity of her surroundings after years of subconsciously ignoring it.

She decided she would break yet another unspoken rule of her every day and not join her sisters for dinner. Had it been any other normal day, they would have questioned it, wondered if maybe she was sick. But not today.

Because today, her brother’s murderer was getting out of prison.

***

To be perfectly honest, her life before she joined the Order had been every bit as predictable. All around her, there were threads moving constantly, pulling her in every direction, making sure she was in the right place at the right time, being the perfect lady. But she hadn’t realized, of course. It usually happens when one is surrounded by beloved people who distract us from the tedium.

For Sansa, this boredom hadn’t fully developed yet, but it was near. She was twelve then, after all. Her life, even as the daughter of a family as important as Stark, was like any girl her age. There was her family, her friends, and her upcoming thirteenth birthday. This last one was what kept her up at night. Sansa had been praying for months to the Old Gods to please, please, make father let her go study in King’s Landing and be near Joffrey. Please, let her become a lady in the capital and marry her beautiful prince. She could finally live one of those fairytales she loved.

Her father always said that bad things come in threes, unexpected and at vertiginous speed. But the more she had thought about it these past years, the more she had realized her life had crumbled in the exact opposite way: like grains of sand falling into the bottom of an hourglass. Or rather, it felt like someone had smashed that hourglass with a hammer and let the sand overflow until it didn’t let her breathe.

It was easy, thinking about it. It was all she did for years. Think about the mechanics of it; the logic, the theory and the possibilities that could have led up to that moment. Easier than thinking about the actual fact, though. Because then she had to remember Robb was dead. No, not dead, killed. In the basest, most primitive way, too. His skull had been cracked against a wall in some disgusting club downtown. Just one instant. One simple push and her brother was gone from this world forever. And then her father died too. Soon, her entire family fell apart, and she was alone. And it had all been because of Sandor Clegane.

Remembering that last part made her feel like someone was crushing her skull and her heart and her entire being.

She closed the door shut behind her and started walking down the street. A couple of people looked at her a little too long, but Sansa wasn’t bothered. She understood, really. Silent Sisters hardly ever went outside, and as much as modern society had gotten rid of religious fanatism, people still feared them a little. There was something eerie about devoting one’s life to the Stranger. Besides, her habit made her stick out like a sore thumb.  
Sansa kept walking aimlessly for what seemed like hours until her stomach grumbled. She felt betrayed by her own body; she didn’t want to eat; she didn’t want to feel anything except pain today. It’s what she deserved. One day to drown in her sorrows without reprimanding herself. Then again, the woman thought, she deserved a day to let herself feel whatever it was she needed to feel, whether it was sadness, bitterness, or a voracious hunger.

The bell at the diner’s door went unnoticed, muffled by the numerous people inside. Sansa ignored the curious looks and made her way to the counter. Sometimes, she also felt like a twenty-two-year-old woman and felt a strange pang every time she saw people her age, as if she were reminded of the life that they took from her. Sansa noticed one particularly loud table with at least fifteen people celebrating. That could’ve been her, toasting and laughing without a care in the world.

Sansa tried to get the waitress’ attention, but the woman made a gesture as if she were asking her to wait. It certainly looked like a busy night, especially with a table as large as that in the back. Sansa looked at them shamelessly; they were too busy roaring with laughter about something to notice anyone else in the place. They were mostly men: rough-looking, loud as if they were defying anyone to stand up to them. There were women, too, but much fewer; and most of them were perched on one of those brute’s laps, giggling and pretending to enjoy their hands on them.

Her heart stopped when she saw Meryn Trant make his way to the table with more booze. Sansa couldn’t believe it. Why was he there? Was he with anyone else from before? Was he…?  
One of the women got up from the lap of one of the guys, revealing the man sitting next to them.

Sandor Clegane hadn’t aged a day for a man who had spent eight years in prison. His scars were as hideous as always, but he looked exactly the same as he did last time she’d seen him. Sansa wondered how she could have missed him in the first place. He was the tallest one there, as usual. It must have been because he didn’t have the same broody air as he normally did. In fact, it looked as if he was… having fun. Sandor Clegane, having fun the night he got released after murdering her brother in cold blood. He even had one of those women sitting really close to him, giggling, and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. And he wasn’t pushing her away, like he was enjoying it.

Sansa thought she would faint right there.

Time stopped. She could no longer hear the people around her, or even her own beating heart. He was clouding her every sense in that instant. Him, and hatred.

Sansa barely registered her own feet moving towards the table. Her body was moving of her accord, sending her straight towards the lion’s den, and she found she didn’t care. They could hit her until she broke into a thousand pieces and she wouldn’t care. He would go down with her even if it cost her life.  
The couple sitting at a nearby table didn’t even realize she had taken the knife. She was only twenty steps away from him. Fifteen steps away. Ten. Five…

The man closest to her got up with a loud bang and startled her, bringing her back to reality. He was shouting at another guy about something, and it seemed as if suddenly the whole table wanted in in their fight.  
Sansa was swarmed by chaos. Yelling, and broken glass, and people getting up and blocking her view from Sandor Clegane. Soon, she didn’t even know how to get out of there. Suddenly, a hand tightened her shoulder, and she turned around to find Petyr Baelish looking at her with a smile.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Broadchurch's soundtrack is perfect for this fic.

Sansa set the mug back on the table, thankful for the warmth the coffee provided after spending an hour out on the cold. Petyr was staring at her, she knew, but refused to look back at him. She opted instead to pretend she was fascinated by the table that thankfully separated them.

“I am so terribly sorry for you, Sansa” he started, taking a sip of his coffee. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been to see the man who destroyed your family walk free and celebrate…” Sansa shut her eyes tightly, wishing he would stop talking. She just wanted to return.

Petyr Baelish had been very close to her mother when they were children, but they hadn’t seen each other until the family had gone to King’s Landing. He was a businessman, an entrepreneur, her mother had said, but the few times Sansa had asked what type of business he had, Catelyn had looked at her as if she had asked something inappropriate and refused to answer. Sansa hadn’t really been interested back then, it was merely childhood curiosity; however, now that he was sitting right in front of her, she couldn’t help but wonder again.

“I almost didn’t recognize you” he chuckled suddenly. She frowned, confused, and he pointed at her head. “I must admit the color suits you”.  
Sansa realized a few strands of her hair had escaped her habit and hurried to brush them back in place with her hands. Her hair was the only thing she ever looked after; she had dyed it black right before joining the Order and had kept doing it ever since. What had been a safety measure had become part of her new identity, along with her name.  
“It’s Alayne now, sir”, she answered, finally looking at him. Petyr smiled, amused, and waved a hand dismissively.  
“No need for such formalities, my sweet girl. Besides, you are technically off the clock, aren’t you? No need for religious names either”, he winked at her.  
“I am always a Silent Sister” she caught herself to avoid calling him sir, even though that’s all she wanted to do, to put distance between the two of them. It was bad enough that he had spotted her. She hadn’t seen anyone from her old life in all those years, and now, the first time she went out completely on her own, she had to run into two people she never wanted to see.

It’s not that Petyr had ever ruined her life, but he had always made her mildly uncomfortable. When she first met her, being only a child, she had thought him kind and a gentleman. She had felt flattered by the way he treated her like a lady, a grown woman, and how he told her every bit of gossip about everyone in the city.  
But despite her young age, Sansa had noticed how he looked at her from the very beginning. Always as if he were trying to decipher her, trying to find something and not being quite able to. A few years later, at her father’s funeral, she had finally realized what it was by the way he touched her mother and barely even looked at her. She had been the replica of a woman he couldn’t have.

“Yes, your mother told me of your… calling”, Petyr seemed to struggle to say the word, “I must admit it troubled me so. A beautiful young lady like you, with such potential, wasting her life away at some convent with old women.”  
“My potential is fully developed thanks to the old women you mention”, Sansa retorted.  
“Of course, of course. I apologize. What I mean is that it’s tragic that you have been pushed towards such a destiny after you went through such a horrible experience. One should never have to lose a sibling. I’m sure your faith will help you deal with this new blow. How’s your mother, by the way?”

He said it in such a nonchalant way that almost fooled her, like it was no big deal. But she could see the longing in his eyes.

“I barely talk to her. I saw her a couple months ago for the festivities, though. She looks good.”  
“That’s remarkable. One can only imagine what it must be like to be her. Losing a son is also a devastating thing.”

Sansa realized he hadn’t mentioned her father’s death once.

“She’s a strong woman. Bran and Rickon keep her busy enough”, Sansa just wanted to come back to the Order, but it seemed as if Petyr wasn’t quite done.  
“Sansa…” he began, and she didn’t like the way he spoke, “I hope you know I support you and your family fully. Justice hasn’t been served. That beast of a man should’ve never got out of prison. He should’ve rotten in there.”  
“Please” she interrupted him, “I don’t feel like talking about it”, she got up quickly, but he grabbed her arm with much more force than expected.  
“Listen”, Petyr said, pulling her closer, “you’ve been running all your life. Terrible things happen to your family and you weep” Sansa tried to loosen his grip, in vain. “You sit alone in a darkened room, mourning their fates”.  
“Please”, she repeated, trying to stop her eyes from tearing up.  
“You’ve been a bystander to tragedy ever since they murdered your brother. Stop being a bystander, you hear me? Stop running” he let her go and brought that hand up to her cheek, stroking it with tenderness. “There’s no justice in the world. Not unless we make it”, Sansa didn’t even notice the tears running down her face at this point, nor did she care. Her heart weas beating so loud she could barely hear him, “You loved your family. Avenge them.”

And then he let her go for real. Even though it was just the palm of her hand against her cheek, Sansa felt as if she had been anchored to the ground thanks to him and now, she could barely avoid not falling down. She sat down again, just for a moment to try and calm her heart. She didn’t mind it this time when he put his hand over hers and squeezed.

***

It was late when Sansa finally returned, so thankfully she didn’t run into anyone as she made her way back to her room. She let out all of the air in her lungs once she closed the door, and immediately headed to her bed, throwing herself at it without a second thought. She took out her veil and coif as she stared at the ceiling.  
Petyr had insisted on walking her home, but Sansa had only let him do so for a few blocks, when the Order was just a couple of minutes away. She knew it was absurd, for anyone could find the building quickly, but her distrustful nature took over still. Besides, it would be inappropriate if a Silent Sister were seen coming back late at night with a man accompanying her.  
His words rang in her ears. She had the feeling there was something she didn’t know by the way he grabbed her shoulders when they said their farewells. The manner in which he told her to be strong, to wait for the undoubtedly future blessings that would balance this terrible day.  
Her eyes closed on their own accord before she could dwell on it, and soon the veil and coif in her hand were a crumpled mess laying on the floor.

***

It was still dark outside when she woke up with a start. She thought for a moment she must had slept in somehow before a loud knock made her jump again.  
Sansa hurried to open the door. Sister Tulia was standing in her doorway, looking a bit nervous. She had only been a Silent Sister for a few months.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, taking her robe and putting it on.

“There’s a man in the kitchen. He’s very badly injured.”

She walked past her without a second thought and almost ran down the stairs to the kitchen. There she found all of her sisters wrapped up in their robes, same as her, their hair disheveled and looking equally tired and confused. Sansa managed to move in between them towards the kitchen’s door frame. Sister Susanna, one of the oldest members of the Order, sat on a chair at the table, her back turned to the door, and dabbed the stranger’s hand with cotton soaked in ethanol. He was so tall he made the spacious kitchen look as if taken out of a dollhouse. His free hand seemed to be holding a rag to his temple, effectively covering most of his face, but even in the dimly lit room Sansa could see his scars shining under the moonlight.

“There’s no need for all of you to be flapping around this man. One will be enough to make some tea”, Sister Susanna’s voice cut off the whispers of her sisters in an instant.

They all scurried away upstairs, both because they wanted to gossip and because Sansa hadn’t been the only one to see the scars marring his face. Then, there was only the three of them.

***

It seemed like a cruel joke from destiny, really. That she had to see him twice in the same day. Her hands shook with violence as she poured the tea into the cups. She kept her head down, her chin pressing into her clavicle, as she passed the cups to them. Sansa tried to take a sip of her own tea, but found her body seemed to refuse to do anything.

“That cut in your face looks deep”, Sister Susanna said, “you should go to the hospital to get it stitched.”  
“No hospitals”, he growled, still holding the rag, that was now soaked in blood.  
“But sir…”  
“I said no hospitals.”

The tone in his voice was enough to make the sister be quiet. Sansa saw out of the corner of her eye how drops of blood were falling down on the white tablecloth. She couldn’t help it. She got up to take another rag, which she put under the tap for a second to humidify it. Then she handed it to him, still looking down. Sansa prayed Sister Susanna didn’t read this as anything more than modesty on her part.  
She gasped when his hand closed around her wrist, and tried with all her might not to tremble.

“Do I know you?” he asked. She shook her head erratically, trying to stop her blood from boiling. His gaze fixed on her for just a couple of seconds before he took the new rag and let her go.  
“You should go back to bed, Sister Alayne” said Sister Susanna. Sansa nodded, thankful for the escape, and hurried back towards her room. But then she stopped at the bottom of the stairwell when Sister Susanna’s voice broke the silence. Sansa returned and pressed her back against the wall, right next to the doorframe, and listened.  
“I suspect there is a reason why you refuse to go to the hospital, and that is not very pleasant”. He just growled again but didn’t reply. “You don’t need to tell me, of course. But if you don’t mind me asking, is there someone you could call instead? Somewhere you can go?”

Again, no response. Sansa felt tempted to turn her head and peek for a moment, but was scared she would get caught. He must have shaken his head, though, for Sister Susanne continued.

“I see.” What did she see? What was it? “Well, I think you could spend the rest of the night here. In the morning, I’ll call a friend of mine. I think he could help you with your situation.” There was a shuffling, the sound of chairs moving, and Sansa was about to run upstairs when it stopped, and the woman spoke again. “But I must warn you. This is a place of worship and labor. I won’t have you bringing trouble here. If your blood’s still up and you want to disturb our peace, go now.”  
“I have no intention of fucking around, lady” Sandor replied, sounding more tired than angry. “I can sleep on the floor just fine and leave at first light.”  
“There’s no need for that. You can stay in the main room, on the couch, and I’ll wake you up myself in a few hours. Have some rest.”

Sansa knew it was time to go. She climbed upstairs as quietly as she could. She was about to turn the corner to where her room was when Sister Susanna’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“You shouldn’t listen to other people’s conversations, Sister Alayne.” Sansa decided it was best to own up to it and return to her room as quickly as possible. Folding her hands together, she nodded.  
“You’re right, Sister. I’m very sorry. I was just curious.” Sister Susanna’s expression softened.  
“No need to be scared. He’s badly injured. I doubt he’ll try anything.”  
“Yes, Sister.” She turned around and changed her mind in the last second. “This friend of yours… were you referring to the brothers from the Quiet Island, Sister?”  
“Indeed. I think he could use some guidance from them. He seems like a very lost man.”  
You have no idea, Sansa thought. Sister Susanna approached her.  
“Are you okay, Sister Alayne? This must have been a stressful day for you. I’ve prayed for you.”  
“Thank you, Sister Susanne. I’m alright. I’m much better now” she answered. “But I think I’d like to go back to sleep now so this awful day can be finally over.”  
“I agree” the old woman chuckled dryly. “Good night, Sister.”  
“Good night.”

Sansa closed the door of her room to go back to sleep for the second time that night, but instead of giving into exhaustion, she found her mind was racing. She grabbed her necklace, the one with the symbol of the Seven, and clutched it desperately, in an attempt to find some sort of solace in it. She prayed, or rather tried to, but Sansa could’ve sworn she could barely hear her voice above Sandor Clegane’s deep breathing downstairs. Sansa pictured him, laying on the sofa, fast asleep, without a worry in the world, and she hated him all the more for it. For his brother, for the way he had broken her heart the day he had betrayed her like that.  
She found herself thinking about Petyr’s words.

Sansa didn’t want to keep mourning her family in a darkened room. What was the point of worshipping the Stranger if he had taken what she loved most in the world?

There was no justice in this world. Not unless she made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my second time writing a Sansan fic and the first time writing a multichaptered one of this ship. I haven't written in a while, let alone in my second language, so I hope I haven't messed up too much
> 
> Regardless, this is a slowburn-ish fic, just a heads up lol. 
> 
> tysm for reading, please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ninety percent of this chapter is basically flashbacks from when Sansa met Sandor. 
> 
> It's the longest chapter so far but I wanted to include lots of things, and still I've left out stuff for later. Next chapter will continue in the present.

Sandor had been twenty-five when she met him. And young as he was, he could scare the living daylights out of everyone in the room, including his own team. Tall, intimidating, always with a scowl as the final touch to an already horrifying face. The scars were what terrified people. They whispered and gossiped about what could have happened to him. Rumors went on and on: they had tried to off the Lannisters’ with fire, but Clegane had managed to save them _and_ kill the perpetrator; he had been tortured and mutilated to get information; some even said he had done it himself to look more imposing, as if that were necessary. Either way, no one had ever dared to ask him, so nobody really knew.

Except Sansa.

She had just turned twelve. Her life was lessons with her septa, gossiping with her friends and spending time with her family. She had never been out of Winterfell, and that weighted on her like a stone. Sansa wanted nothing more than to see what else was there, to meet different people, to find out how the world worked in the capital. The Lannisters coming to visit was like a blessing coming straight from heaven.

Father had made them stand in a row as he introduced them to their guests. She had been near to dismay, of course: they were basically royalty. Cersei looked like she could’ve been a queen, beautiful and mysterious. Oh, and her brother was just as lovely, all gallantry and sweet nothings as he kissed her mother’s hand and then hers like she was too a grown woman. Father’s friend, on the other hand, had been a complete disappointment. After years of listening to his stories about their glory days, how Robert had been the fiercest and bravest one in their military days, Sansa found herself looking at a man who hadn’t been able to look at his feet for years and that had no qualms about disrespecting his wife in front of everyone. No shame about drinking and eating like there was no tomorrow, either.

But his son was beautiful. _Handsome_ couldn’t even cut it. He was gorgeous from all angles. Strands of hair that looked made of pure gold and that could barely hide the green eyes that shone underneath. And his lips. Oh, his lips. Rosy and full, they were like a rose that had flowered in the middle of the snow.

Sansa thought right there that the stories were right. He was every bit as perfect as they had anticipated. And when he had looked at her, Sansa had felt as if her heart was trying to fight its way out of her chest.

It had been love, undoubtedly.

And then something monstrous had emerged and shadowed her beautiful prince. That was the first time she saw him, and she thought him a beast right there.

They called him the Hound.

The Lannisters would only be staying for a couple of weeks. Sansa had wanted to make the most out of that time, more and more delighted as days went by and her prince never wanted to leave her side. But unfortunately for her, the Hound also refused to leave her prince’s side. He would tower over him like a dark cloud on a perfect day, and ruin her every hope of spending some time alone with Joffrey.

“Don’t be scared of him” he would laugh as her eyes widened every time Sandor came close. “He’s a hound, but a trained one. He’ll only do what I order him. Isn’t that right, Hound?”

“Yes, sir.”

“See?” Joffrey would say, looking very pleased with himself. “He could even kill a man with his bare hands if I told him to.”

“Please, let’s talk about something else” Sansa begged. Joffrey would frown for a moment, annoyed that she didn’t share his enthusiasm, but then he would return back to his charming self. He had been only fourteen, but even then, he was incredibly good at acting.

Their shared moments didn’t escape anyone’s attention. Her brothers were mostly indifferent, preferring to spend their time in whatever stupid game they played, and Arya had enjoyed teasing her relentlessly by insulting her prince. Robert, however, had been most pleased. Sansa thought her father would be too. But instead, he had refused every offer made by his friend.

“You should come to King’s Landing, girl” he had told her one evening as they had dinner, two days before they went back. “Joffrey goes to the best school in the country.”

“I’d love to” Sansa answered, looking at Joffrey, “Winterfell has no interest.”

“Sansa” her mother had chastised her, but Robert just laughed.

“The girl is right, Catelyn. This is a beautiful house, and no doubt your children go to the best school here. But is it the best they can have? I doubt it. And if she came to live with us, she and Joffrey could see each other more often.”

“Live with you? Oh, Robert, what are you saying?” Catelyn looked at her husband for aid.

“It’s true, Robert. We’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves. And this is not the time or place to be talking about such things” he had added, with a bit of an admonishing look. Robert hadn’t seemed to notice, and by then, Sansa was already boiling with the excitement at the prospect of living in their exquisite house in the capital and going to the finest school with Joffrey.

She had begged and begged her father for permission, but he seemed set on the idea: Sansa was too young to be studying so far from home, let alone to be thinking about boys. She had all the time in the world to worry about such things.

Nevertheless, they agreed that she could go and visit them a few months later. Sansa threw a tantrum, cried, and yelled, and stomped her way back to her room, but it had been for nothing, and at the end, she decided that if she kept that up they could forbid her from visiting too. So, she grit her teeth and nine long months without Joffrey, finding solace in the letters they wrote to each other talking about love and future prospects that made her heart flutter, and finally, the day arrived. Two men came to pick her up at the airport, much to her disappointment, and took her back to the Lannisters’.

She never thought that would be the last time she would see Winterfell.

It was as if Sansa had stepped into a parallel universe. Joffrey was nothing like the boy that had been writing those romantic letters to her every week. He would mock her constantly and leave her alone to go out with his friends. At first it upset her, but then she was grateful she didn’t have to see them, for they had decided their favorite game was to torment her. They would ask her how experienced she was, if she had ever kissed a boy, or been touched, and how far, and for how long, and would she be willing to let them touch her? All of them, loud and rude and entitled would come in like it was their house and take over the main living room to play video games or drink. One day, only a week after she’d arrived, Joffrey made her come downstairs to drink with them. Sansa had tried to refuse, but they kept pressing her and she didn’t want Joffrey to think she was a child, boring or a coward. So she drank, and then drank some more, and kept drinking even though the room was spinning and she couldn’t see straight and they kept pushing glasses into her hand, until suddenly her stomach decided it was enough and she stumbled to the bathroom as fast as she could. Sansa barely made it to the bathroom before she started throwing up. Even with her head in the toilet and the loud noises coming out of her throat, she could hear them laughing like it was the funniest thing they had ever seen.

Her stomach finally gave her a break, and she crawled, pressed against the bathroom tiles as her body slumped. Her whole body was shaking. She was exhausted and just wanted to cry. She just wanted to feel normal again, for the alcohol to stop dizzying her.

“What’s wrong with you?” a voice asked her. Sansa managed to look up to see the Hound standing at the door, his usual frown darkening his face. She tried to answer, but bile came back, and she could just throw her hand forward to try and land inside the toilet. She heard him curse, and then felt his hands pushing back her hair, which was already stained with vomit. Deep inside, the tiny bit of sobriety in her felt mortified, but she was so sick she couldn’t really bring herself to care. She returned to her position with her back against the wall.

“It smells like a liquor store in here, girl. What the fuck did you do?” he asked again roughly, and Sansa couldn’t hold it anymore. Sobs wrecked her body. She felt like a baby, but it was helpless. She just wanted to cry. Sandor cursed again and left, and Sansa lay down on the floor, a bit relieved by the coolness of the tiles in her thumping head. He came back shortly after. Sansa closed her eyes and heard the sink running. After a few moments, she felt a soaked cloth against her forehead, the back of her neck, her cheek. His kindness just made her want to cry harder. Why was he acting like Joffrey should have?

“I’m sorry I threw up” she sobbed, feeling pathetic.

“Come on up, sit, that’s it” he just said, helping her return to a vertical position. “Here, drink some water. Slow, don’t gulp it or you’ll have nausea again.” She did as he said and kept drinking with her eyes shut. “You want to tell me what happened?”

“Joffrey and his friends…” she whispered. The tears kept flowing down, but she no longer cared about being pathetic. That was already established. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t your fault.”

“How… how do you know?”

“Because I know Joffrey.”

Sansa wished that would have been the only time, but it was just the first. Soon, it became a routine for Joffrey to torture her in some twisted way, just for Sandor to show up and fix her. Once, Joffrey and his friends had been goading her once again with sexual questions. Sansa mostly tried to avoid them or keep quiet, hoping they would grow tired, and even more embarrassed because Sandor was actually present that time. He was standing at the door next to Meryn Trant, another bodyguard of Joffrey’s, and just as cruel as his master. Sansa had seen how he would smile when they taunted her. He also had no restraints when it came to hitting girls if his master ordered it.

“Come on” said Joffrey in between laughs. “Sansa, you are such a boring prude. You know what would help you?” he made a gesture, and suddenly there was a boy at her back. She heard the scissors, and then her sweater fallen to the front, barely covering her. She clutched it desperately, fighting the tears welling up in her eyes as they all burst out laughing. “Now you look so much better, right boys? You should lose the skirt too, Sansa.”

“Please” she begged, but they weren’t listening. Another hand grabbed the hem of her skirt, and Sansa prayed to the Old Gods that they would stop.

The hand disappeared all of a sudden as the room went quiet. Sansa opened her eyes, still shaking.

Sandor had the boy dangling from the ground as he grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. The boy looked ready to piss himself.

“Enough” growled Sandor. He put down the boy brusquely, who fell on his ass and scrambled to get back on his feet. Joffrey looked stunned, almost ready to say something, but then Sandor turned to him and he closed his mouth as fast as he opened it. Sansa felt something warm surrounding her and realized he had taken off his leather jacket to put it on her. It was too big for her, and she was even more thankful to have extra fabric to cover herself with. “Let’s go, girl. Up you go.”

She hadn’t even realized she had fallen to her knees as the boys had pushed her. She got up and dared to sneak one look at Joffrey. He looked white as a ghost, but didn’t say a word. Meryn seemed like he wanted to intervene, but when Sandor and Sansa finally passed through the door he stayed in place, holding onto his gun so tensely that his knuckles were white.

It wasn’t that she was no longer scared of his face. He still terrified her; but was grateful all the same for his kindness. She didn’t have any more friends in that house. Cersei was nowhere to be found all throughout the day, except at dinnertime, and then she barely bothered looking at her, taken as she was with her children, especially Joffrey. Her gorgeous prince, she called him. It made Sansa sick.

Her visit prolonged itself way more than it should’ve. She wondered why, as she had yet to talk to her family. The only time she had dared to ask, Cersei had stared daggers at her.

“Are you uncomfortable here, child?” she had asked.

“No, no, I am so happy to be here” Sansa lied. “But I miss my family. And school will start soon, and…”

“Now don’t you worry about that, little dove” Cersei cut her off. “I’m sure your father will gladly let you stay here and study. Isn’t that what you wanted? That way, Joffrey and you will be able to spend more time together.”

Joffrey looked at her from across the table and smiled in a way that made her shiver.

The conversation ended right there.

Almost two months went by. The schoolyear was about to start, but she still hadn’t heard anything about her family. She wasn’t allowed to leave the house either, and her few questions were always shut down quickly.

She had managed to sneak back to her room after one especially awful night. Sandor was somewhere else, and only Meryn Trant guarded them. Joffrey had taken full advantage of that. He had made her stand against the wall in the room as he pointed a crossbow at her.

“You like it?” he’d asked. “It has been in my family for years. I want to see if it still works.”

The game was simple enough: stand there and be still. Sansa thought it was like when they put on a show of a man with an apple on his head and another man trying to shoot it down; but this time, there was no apple, and she couldn’t decide if he was trying to hit her or no. He looked equally pleased and disappointed every time he failed and an arrow landed inches away from her.

Joffrey became bored of the game after a while, as his aim wasn’t much. He thought of a more exciting version of the game: he would shoot at her, and if she moved a muscle, Trant would make sure she wouldn’t do it again.

She’d gotten to her room in a deplorable state. Her lip was swollen and bloody, and she would surely have multiple bruises come morning. She had gone straight to bed, too exhausted even to cry, and had fallen asleep soon after.

Sansa woke up to yelling the next day. Familiar voices. She jumped out of bed.

“Where is my sister!?” her heart started racing when she heard Robb’s voice in the hallway. She couldn’t see him from the top of the stairwell. “Where is she!? Let me through!”

“We’ve already told you. She’s been sick for a while now. She’s not okay to travel.” Cersei’s voice travelled all the way up. Sansa could hear the words, but they didn’t make sense. Sick? Is that why they hadn’t talked to her?

“I am here now. My father will arrive tomorrow. We want her back home now.”

“Then you will see your sister _tomorrow_. Please, leave.”

She saw a flash of him as he tried to step in, but then Ilyn Payne, Cersei’s bodyguard, pushed him back. He was quiet for a few seconds.

“Tomorrow, then”, Robb finally said. Sansa wanted to scream and run towards him. _I am here!_ But she knew she couldn’t do it. It would only worsen things, and Robb was alone.

The door closed and then he was gone along with Sansa’s hope.

“Sansa” Cersei called her. She spotted her quickly. “Oh, the little dove likes to pry, doesn’t she?”

“I didn’t mean to pry.”

“I don’t care.” Cersei said. “Come with me.”

Sansa followed her reluctantly towards Robert’s office. She had never been in it. Cersei poured herself a drink and sat down in his chair, the motioned her to do the same in the chair across the desk.

“Little dove” her tone was much softer now, “you are not a child anymore, even though your family insists in treating you like one.” She paused for a moment, as if looking for the words. “I think you deserve to know the truth. Your father… is a big, fat liar.”

Sansa looked up at her. She hadn’t known what to expect, and yet Cersei had surprised her.

“I don’t understand.”

“Your father nagged us for months so we would do business together. I told Robert he wasn’t trustworthy, but he just wouldn’t listen. He thinks old friendships mean something” she said that last part with so much bitterness Sansa couldn’t help but stare. “And now he has made us lost a lot of money in his dying company. We told him you could live with us until things settled, that we would be generous enough to let you stay here. You don’t have to pay for your father’s incompetence, little dove. And now he’s taken advantage of that to spread lies about us keeping you here to control him. You love Joffrey, don’t you?”

Sansa stammered at the sudden change of subject.

“I… I… I love him with all my heart.”

Cersei smiled.

“And you love your family, don’t you? Wouldn’t want anything happening to them.”

“Of course not” she hurried to answer.

“Then talk to him. Tomorrow, when he gets here, make sure he understands that if he doesn’t stop trying to hurt our family —your future family” she added, “we won’t have no choice but to claim our money back once and for all. And that will be the end of your father’s company, sweetheart. Do you understand?”

“I think so” she whispered.

“Good. Don’t disappoint me, little dove.”

Sansa shook her head and got up quickly. She just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. Joffrey was nowhere to be seen, and Sansa tried to distract herself by reading in her room. Everything was going to be alright. She would talk to her father and convince him to stop. He just had to pay them back, that’s all. Then they could all go back home.

It was close to dusk when she finally tore her eyes apart from the book. She had spent the entire day in there, reading. It had been the first day since she arrived without having to endure Joffrey. She hadn’t seen him all day, but it wasn’t like she wanted to complain about it.

“The lady is worried” Sansa jumped out of her chair and turned around. Sandor Clegane stood at her door, looking at her. “You do well.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Not here for long. I’m going.”

“Where?” Sansa didn’t want him to leave. He was her only friend in King’s Landing. Or the closest thing to a friend.

“I don’t know. Far from here. Somewhere free of fucking Lannisters.”

He stepped closer to her. She tried not to squirm. The room was almost completely dark by then, except for the little lamp near the window. The light flickered against his face, waving over his scars.

“I could take you with me” he said then, and she trembled. “Take you back home.”

“My brother is here. My father will be here tomorrow as well. When I explain the situation, they…”

“Explain? What the fuck are you going to explain, little bird? How they torture you every day?”

“It’s all a misunderstanding. I love Joffrey.”

“Fuck that. Only a half-wit would meet Joffrey and say they love him.”

“I do, I love him, I love him more than anything” she kept repeating. She was panting and didn’t even know it. “Everything will sort itself out tomorrow and I’ll go back home.”

“If you truly believe that you are as stupid as you pretend to be for Joffrey, little bird” he said, not unkindly. She looked up at him an instant and then back down. “Look at me. Look at me!”

Sansa obeyed. Up close, it wasn’t his scars that scared her, but his eyes. They looked like steel about to cut her to pieces. He looked furious, and Sansa could smell the liquor from his breath. He grabbed her by the shoulders firmly, but didn’t hurt her.

“You know how I got these?” he pointed at his face. “My brother did it. He held my head over a fire until he burned down my fucking face like a steak. He works for them too. Take a good look at my face, little bird, and don’t forget it. They will never let you go, you hear me?” he shook her shoulders, but she didn’t move. “Come with me. I could keep you safe. No one would hurt you again, or I would kill them.”

Sansa hesitated. Her mind was racing. She had heard about his brother. They called him the Mountain, and they said he was bigger than Sandor. She didn’t even want to imagine him.

Maybe he was right. After all, hadn’t they tormented her for weeks? Was it a lie that they had kept her away from her family?

But it couldn’t be. Her brother was there. Her father would arrive tomorrow. They would take her home themselves. They would come for her.

Sandor must have seen it in her eyes. He let go of her shoulders and stared at her until she squirmed, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. It seemed like that angered him.

“You can’t even look at me” he growled. “The Lannisters are killers. Your father’s a killer too. The world is built by killers, little bird. You better get used to look at them.”

His words made something inside her shake. Was he a killer? He couldn’t be. As brute and violent as he was, as rough-spoken, he had always protected her.

“You won’t hurt me” she simply said.

“No, little bird, I won’t hurt you.”

And then he left like he had arrived, without a noise. When she finally moved, she realized his leather jacket was laying on her bed.

The next day, he crushed her brother’s skull against a wall.

* * *

By the time Sansa got up and went downstairs, Clegane was already gone. One of her sisters was folding up the blanket he had used. She looked up at Sansa and greeted her good morning.

She went to the dining room, where they were setting down breakfast.

“Good morning, sister Alayne” Sister Susanna greeted her. “How did you sleep?”

Sansa felt all eyes on her.

“Very well, thank you Sister. Has our guest from last night left already?”

“Yes, first thing. The brothers from the Quiet Isle have said they’ll gladly take him in.”

“He’s joining them?” one of her sisters scoffed and sat straighter when Sister Susanna looked at her.

“He is going to stay with them for a little while, yes, but not as a brother of the Order. Only because he can’t stay here. During the day, he will come here and help. The gods know we need it now that Fred has retired.”

Sansa drank her tea in silence. The rest of the women seemed hesitant.

“But Sister, he… why is he in need? Are we sure we can trust him?”

“One can never be sure unless they forward some trust first, sister Cecil” replied the older woman. “We can only have some faith that he’s a good man in the wrong path.”

Sansa tipped over her tea, spilling everywhere.

“Oh, I’m sorry” she said, getting up. “I’ll clean it up.”

She made her way towards the kitchen through the living room, but stopped when she was about to get in. She breathed in slowly, closing her eyes, trying to reign herself in.

Sansa turned around and headed to the far end of the sofa, where the blanket still lay. She took it and brought it close to her face. Tears welled up in her eyes.

It smelled like his jacket.


	4. Chapter 4

The routine of the Order was simple enough: wake up with the first rays of sun, head to the sept to pray and then have breakfast. The rest of the day was spent in different duties: some days were dedicated to reflection, silence, and prayer; others, they would collaborate with different charities. Thankfully, modern medicine had lowered the mortality rate significantly; on the other hand, that meant the Silent Sisters were not as necessary as they had always been. It was not only the advances in science; not as many people were religious now, so even if someone passed away, their families usually preferred to leave funerary homes in charge of the arrangements.

This meant that the Order had become a charity in itself. Only people in great need came to them. Those who were homeless and hungry always had a roof over their heads and a place in their table, at least for the day. They were guided towards shelters and associations that could help them in the long-term, or like in Sandor Clegane’s case, became a part of the Order by a mutually beneficial agreement.

It had worked very well for three days. Not nearly enough time for Sansa to think of anything. She had been watching him from her bedroom window on the fourth morning since his arrival as he worked in the garden, hands deep into the soil. His back had been to her, and it had barely dawned, so Sandor hadn’t noticed her gaze. Sister Susanna had.

Sansa thought she’d be scorned and that was that. She hadn’t expected her Sister to confront her in such a straightforward manner after breakfast.

“Were you ever planning to tell me he is your brother’s killer?” her words had caught her so by surprise that Sansa had almost dropped the basket of laundry she was about to hang. She turned her head sharply, but it seemed like none of the other Sisters had heard Sister Susanna, as they were too busy with the orchard.

“Sister, I-“

“I am so disappointed with you, Sister Alayne” Sansa had never seen her so angry. “How am I supposed to trust you now? How are your Sisters supposed to trust you, if you keep this sort of matters hidden?” even though she was just whispering, Sansa caught the harshness of her tone, and it stung all the same. Sister Susanna picked a garment from the basket Sansa held and hanged it in the rack, shaking her head as she did so.

“I don’t know what to say” she finally answered after a brief silence. She saw Sister Susanna inhale deeply. “It is the one thing I just wanted to keep to myself.”

“You know, Sister? I would’ve understood if you hadn’t wanted to talk about your brother’s tragedy. Not everything has to be shared, I can understand that. But you recognized him right away the night he came to us, didn’t you? And you said nothing. Which makes me wonder: _why_ have you said nothing?”

Again, Sansa was speechless, but it seemed irrelevant for Sister Susanna, who kept talking and carrying on with the laundry as if they were discussing the weather.

“I’ve been thinking about it since I found out about Sandor Clegane yesterday. And the more I thought about it, the less I wanted to believe it. But deep down, I know it’s true. You want him to stay here, Sister. And you want him to stay here because you want to avenge your brother.”

Sansa finally reacted. She set the basket on the ground and started hanging clothes herself, but at a much higher speed as if she were in a rush. She ignored her trembling hands.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s a sin, Sister Alayne. And you know it. Whatever it is you’re thinking about, forget about it.”

“Forget about it?” it scared her how easily her body had moved towards Sister Susanna. She towered over the old woman and experienced a sick satisfaction at seeing her recoil slightly. “What exactly am I supposed to forget about, Sister? That my brother was killed like a pig? That the man who did it walks free? And I’m supposed to be okay with that? No, no” she shook her head, not even caring anymore about keeping her voice down. “I don’t accept that. I will _never_ accept that.”

Sister Susanna went quiet for almost a minute. Sansa’s resolve was starting to waver, so she gave a step back. Some of her Sisters looked at her with concern.

“I can also understand your rage, child” she finally began. “I can’t imagine your pain. But whatever you want to do, you won’t be able to bring your brother back. And it will not make you feel any better. That, I can guarantee you.”

Sandor opened the back door in the kitchen to the backyard. He looked at them for a second and kept walking towards the shed.

“Now” Sister Susanna exhaled and seemed to recover a bit, “it is clear that Mr. Clegane cannot stay here. I will talk to the Elder Brother, see if-“

“No” Sansa cut her off. “Please, Sister. Don’t. You… you’re right, I’m being irrational. I’m letting my emotions get in the way. I am a Silent Sister now. That’s all in the past.”

“I’ve known you for years, Sister Alayne, since you were just a child that came to join us. I know when you’re not being sincere.”

“Then you also know it wouldn’t be fair if he lost his job here. Do you think someone will want to hire him after what he did?” she retorted, sneaking a glance at Clegane from the corner of her eye. He was too busy digging to pay them any mind, especially to the Sisters working next to him, who looked downright terrified. Sansa wanted to scoff at them, but then she remembered how she’d been even more scared when she first met him.

_And turns out I was right to be scared_ , she thought, _he’s a monster, all right._

“Okay,” Sister Susanna sighed. “He will stay here”, Sansa almost smiled, “but you will not have any contact with him. I don’t want you bringing him tea, or talking to him, or about him, or even looking at him. I will make sure you don’t have to come close to this man, and you have to keep that promise. Otherwise, he’s gone.”

“Thank you, Sister.”

“And if you lie to me again about something like this” Sister Susanna was the one to approach her now, and Sansa fought not to recoil herself, “or if you disobey, or try to act on this rage you feel for Sandor Clegane, your place here at the Order will be questioned. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Sister” the voice barely came out of her throat, but it seemed to satisfy Sister Susanna.

“You should go to pray now, child. I’ll take care of this on my own.”

Sansa went back inside the house and walked towards the sept in silence. Each of her steps echoed against the empty rooms like Sister Susanna’s words did in her mind.

She had gotten out of control for a moment, that was true. She shouldn’t have shown her feelings so soon, but it couldn’t be helped. Her blood boiled every time she thought about Clegane, just like her stomach turned into a painful knot. It was confusing and infuriating, and she just wanted it to be over.

Yes, she had talked too much, but it could be remedied. Clegane wasn’t going anywhere for the moment. Sansa just had to keep up the charade for a little bit longer until Sister Susanna let her guard down, and then she could start planning. She had to remember what Petyr had said.

***

The whole day had almost gone by, and Sansa had just moved from the sept to go have lunch. Sister Susanna had been very clear about it: she very much needed a day of ‘reflection’ by herself.

Sansa thought it felt more like sending a kid to her room for misbehaving but knew better than to anger her any further by commenting on it.

Instead, she tried to be patient and stayed there, kneeling, not even caring how painful it was after the first couple of hours. The pain helped her focus; it sharpened her mind, made her more vigilant to what was going on. Made it easier to think, too.

She could poison him. It would be as easy as pouring a little bit of rat poison from the pantry into his tea when no one looked. It would look like he had come down with something, and maybe it would be too late by the time the Sisters actually thought it serious enough to call a doctor.

Clegane had been battered up the night he arrived at the Order, like someone had beat him up. Maybe she wasn’t the only one in the city who had it out for him. Sansa remembered Clegane enough: he had never been a religious man, had spit on anything that resembled a vow. Him being in the Order couldn’t be by free will. He needed to hide.

There were too many possibilities going through her mind. A thousand opportunities to take him out, each one more macabre than the last. All of them ending the same way: with Clegane dead.

It was that image that kept her going for the rest of the day until the sun started to set, and the last rays of the day filtered through the sept’s stained glasses. The bell’s tolls brought her back from her own mind. Sansa got up, her knees tender and sore, and made her way back to the main house. Her stomach grumbled softly at the delicious smell that was spreading through the building, and she closed the doors to the sept behind her.

She stopped dead in her tracks in the hallway leading up to the house when she saw him through the window. He hastily cleaned his hands in his jeans, left the tools on the ground, and made his way towards the house. Her heart started racing. She looked down the hall like she expected Sister Susanna to turn up all of a sudden and catch her, but the voices of her Sisters were barely a background sound all the way across the building.

Sansa saw the exact moment he spotted her. He paused for a moment, and immediately resumed his walk. She tried to compose herself as the glass door slid open and he came in.

“Night, Sister” he said gruffly.

“Are you done for today?” Sansa asked impulsively. He looked at her with a surprised expression.

“You’re the first in here to talk to me apart from the old one.” Sandor looked her up and down, examining her, and Sansa stood very still, trying not to tear her gaze away from his eyes. It felt as if he were looking right through her. “Yes, I’m done. I should get back now to get on time for dinner.”

“You could have dinner here” he chuckled dryly.

“Yes, I’m sure your bloody Sisters would love to have a dog at their table.”

He closed the door behind him and turned without another word, ending the conversation.

“Not a dog. A hound.” That did it. Clegane stopped right there. Sansa didn’t even realize he had beelined towards her until he was standing a few inches from her, and before she knew it, she was pressed against the wall.

“What did you say?” he was already panting, but his eyes were aflame. “What the fuck did you say?” His hands were shaking slightly like he wanted to grab her but didn’t. Sansa looked down at them before she looked at him again with despise.

“You heard me” she replied, raising her chin. “What? Are you going to kill me too?”

“You fucking-” Sandor stopped, his eyes widening in recognition. Sansa felt her confidence plummet for a moment but stood tall. “Little bird.”

“Don’t call me that” she pushed him away with all her might. “Get away from me.”

“What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here? Looking for atonement? You’re a religious man now, Clegane?”

He looked truly shocked now. Sandor stepped back like she was a ghost until they were several feet apart.

“I didn’t know… I never imagined you…”

“You never imagined I’d end up here” she finished for him. “Neither did I. I have to admit I’m a bit disappointed. Thought you’d realize it was me earlier.”

“I thought you were” he murmured. It was like he was talking to himself now. “But I never believed it was possible. I wondered what had been of you.”

Sansa burst out laughing, but there was no joy in the sound. It was an empty, awful thing.

“Well, now you know. I’m here” she stepped forward, extending her arms like she was standing in the middle of a great palace. “I have also thought about you. Every day for the last eight years, I’ve thought of you.”

Sandor didn’t reply. He looked… defeated, almost. Sansa felt how her rage expanded in her chest. Where was his bite? Where was the Hound?

“So that’s it. You want to kill me, don’t you, little bird?”

“Don’t-”

“Go on, then. How will you do it?”

Sansa blinked.

“Just like that? You’re not going to resist? You’re not even going to curse me out?” she knew she must look deranged in that instant but couldn’t bring herself to care.

“What’s the use? I accept it. I killed your brother, and now you want to kill me. It’s only fair.” He went for her again, and this time Sansa couldn’t help but try to step back when she saw him reaching to his back. He took out a knife pocket and pushed it into her head. “So get on with it girl. No need to drag this any longer.”

“What are you doing?”

Now it was Sandor who looked thoroughly confused.

“I’m helping you out. Making it easier.”

“You’re pathetic” her voice came out louder than she intended. “Robb’s dead because of you. My father’s dead because of you. You think you get to die here? Now?” she spat in the ground in between them. “I _won’t_ make this easier for you, do you hear me? I won’t give you the satisfaction of a quick death. You don’t deserve it.”

His eyes had darkened, she could see it from where she stood. It was like the old mask of the Hound was slowly slipping back into place.

“You intend to hunt me down now, girl?”

Sansa shook her head slowly.

“I have no chance against you. We both know that. But I have time. It’s all I have now. Enjoy what it’s like to have a normal life now, Clegane. I will make a vow to you: I swear you will feel every single ounce of the pain you’ve made me feel. You will wish I killed you today.”

He lowered his head until she couldn’t see his face anymore. His back started to tremble. Sansa stared at him, bewildered.

His laughter rang against the walls of the hallway. He was doubled over himself with it. Sansa felt her cheeks flushing with embarrassment despite herself.

“Laugh all you want” she started, her words unsure, but his laughter cut her off again. Her hands shook violently with boiling anger. She took one step forward, the knife still in her hand.

Sansa found herself again pressed against the wall before she could react. Sandor was no longer laughing, and he was even closer than before.

“What if I killed you?” she froze, terrified for an instant. “You’re a little thing, you said it yourself. I could slit your throat right here and there’s nothing you could do about it.”

Sansa heaved erratically, her heart racing. She felt his hands on her waist, pulling her slightly closer. Her hand grabbed the knife more firmly, even when she felt the blade starting to cut into her palm. The blood, warm and thick, was like a hit that brought her back to reality. Certainty flashed in front of her eyes.

“You won’t hurt me” she said, even as the tears threatened to fill her eyes, and knew it to be true even when her heart kept racing and his hands tightened around her. Sansa gulped but refused to look away from him. He never looked away. She refused to be the one that gave up every time.

His hands left her waist all of a sudden, and Sansa thought she would fall down.

“No, little bird, I won’t hurt you” Sandor moved away from her and walked towards the door. He stopped for a second before he turned his head. “Do as you will. Torment me, cut me to pieces, throw me out of a window, I don’t fucking care. If the seven buggers exist, they must know I deserve it.”

And then he was gone.

His steps became more and more distant, until there was only her, and his knife in her hand, still pressing against the skin.

She didn’t stop until the drops started hitting the stone floor.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language and also it's almost 2 a.m here so please forgive me for any mistakes lmao
> 
> This fic will be based on Sherwood's Mark of Cain but major plot points change, only the basic plot continues. If you haven't read it I heavily recommend it!!
> 
> Please leave a comment and thanks for reading!


End file.
